one last call for alcohol
by emptyvessels
Summary: In which Simmons and Fitz get drunk, make out, and (sort of) forget it ever happened.


I wrote this to kind of fill the 'FitzSimmons get drunk, make out, and then don't remember any of it the next day' prompt that's been going around on Tumblr. As with most things I attempt, it kind of just turned into its own thing. Also this is loosely based off the song 'Closing Time' by Semisonic.

I don't own SHIELD or its characters or the lyric used in the title or anything else you may recognize.

_one last call for alcohol;_

The only thing more pathetic than sitting alone at the bar in The Boiler Room after being stood up by a date was feeling bad about it. That didn't stop Jemma from downing her second bottle of beer and picking apart pretzels before consuming them.

_Romance_. The word itself was enough to make her eyes roll. Yet, there she was, mourning a concept she wasn't even she existed at all.

She reread the text message explaining the reason for the cancellation:

_Sorry, Jemma. Terrible stomach cramps rain check? _

She rolled her eyes. It's not like she and this man had been seeing very long, but this was not the first time he'd texted her at the last possible minute to cancel plans.

Angrily, she shoved her phone into her pocket bag, returning her attention back to the alcohol. At least when she couldn't rely on men, she could rely on the assurance that booze would always be there for her. She laughed silently as she pushed back the thought that she was showing early symptoms of alcoholism; this was her pity party and she could drink if she wanted to.

Hours passed and she'd lost track of nearly everything; time, how much drank, she didn't even remember calling Fitz, but surely enough, there he was taking the empty stool next to hers. She was grateful for his company despite the fact she probably looked like a train wreck. He motioned to the bartender that he would have what she was having, and even ordered another round for her.

"You always find the most appropriate ways to deal with your problems, Jem," he laughed, nudging her arm with his elbow.

She glared at him, her eyes hard and glassy. She hadn't cried all night, but she could feel the tears slowly building up. She wasn't typically a very emotional drunk (at least, she'd never admit to it), but there was no denying the night would inevitably end in tears.

"So I take it now that this Kid bloke is a no-show, then?"

Jemma rolled her eyes. "Kip," she corrected him.

"Isn't that what I said?" He replied, nodding graciously at the girl behind the counter as she handed them their beers. "It's a terrible name anyway," he added. He moved his stool so that he was sitting closer to Jemma, nudging her softly again. "Chin up, Simmons. He was unworthy of you anyway. And if he is worth anything at all, he probably has a good reason for not being here."

She scoffed, skimming through her phone for the text, handing it to him.

Fitz read the message and frowned. "Well, then, see? I was right. Not worth anything at all."

"Thanks for trying to make me feel better," she smiled weakly and took another swig from her bottle. Fitz concentrated on her face, his own twisting into an expression of confusion and concern.

"That's your last one, Jem. Let's go home," he said, pulling his wallet out and placing some cash on the counter.

"No," she refused, holding her bottle close to her chest as if Fitz was threatening to take it away.

"Jemma, it takes a lot to get you this drunk. How much have you had? I'm surprised the bar woman hasn't cut you off already herself."

"You're not in _charge_ of me!" She scowled at him and looked at the money on the counter. "And you don't have to pay for my drinks, Fitz. I'm a grown woman."

He stared at her, the look in his eyes unreadable. "Jemma, please," he urged her softly. He thought for a moment. "At least drink somewhere you can pass out and not worry about it. Come on. I've got decent stash back in my room and Fabio is still out of town."

Exhaling deeply, she pushed back her protests and stood. Even inebriated, she could see recognize this as a ploy to just get her out of the bar. But this was Fitz and if there was anyone she could depend on more than alcohol, it was him. And here he was promising her more alcohol. If that didn't sound like a win, she didn't know what did.

x.x.x.x.

The pair shared a bottle of Scotch as they sat side-by-side on Fitz' bed, chatting idly as a film neither of them could remember the name of played on his laptop on the nightstand at their side. It was some strange indie film Fitz had chosen because the word science appeared somewhere in the title, but neither of them could be bothered in their current state to try keeping up with the plot of it.

"Do you ever wonder where you'd be if you never came to the Academy?" Simmons asked, her voice slurring slightly.

Fitz shook his head. "Nope," he replied, popping his lips on the 'p' sound.

"Really? _Neve_r?" She sounded incredulous. "You never think about how different your life would be if you'd never even learned about this place."

"It's not something I like to think about," he admitted, taking the bottle from her hands and taking a sip. "Too much of who I am is here."

"That's silly, Fitz. You aren't defined by a place."

"No," he agreed. "But I can at least make an attempt at being myself here. It's more of a home than any place I've ever been." He took a pause before continuing, holding the bottle at his lips, as he appeared to be debating what he was going to say next. "And you're here," he added finally, taking another swig of alcohol.

She looked at him, her eyes searching for something in his. A dozen different connotations could be made from what he said, and she wanted to know what he meant by it.

Luckily, he didn't keep her guessing. "The world has a pretty limited supply of Jemma Simmonses, and I don't necessarily like to imagine a place without one."

She wasn't exactly sure what happened next, but one moment bled into another and suddenly her lips were on his, her tongue gently grazing the outside of his mouth. He felt much softer than she thought he would, though the texture of his lips were slightly chapped from the winter wind. She twisted her body around so that she was facing him and sighed as she sunk into his chest. They broke the kiss briefly for air, but continued on more intensely the moment they made contact again.

Her hand buried itself in the curls at back of his head as she hoisted herself up on his lap, thrusting herself against him, enjoying the moan he emitted in response.

"I love you," he mumbled, pressing his lips against the line of her jaw.

She closed her eyes and tried to picture herself anywhere else but right in Fitz' dorm room, but found herself failing to imagine such a place. Fitz was right; where else on this planet could they be themselves but here, together?

In the morning, Jemma wakes up with her back pressed up against the wall at the side of Fitz' bed, her arm draped comfortably around the sleeping engineer's waist. She felt herself begin to blush and was grateful that Fitz was still asleep. She tried to connect a memory to the image, but the pounding in her head made it too difficult to think. All she could remember was leaving the Boiler Room with him and coming back to his dorm to watch some silly movie.

She sat up carefully as to not wake Fitz, fixed herself up in the mirror, and slipped out the door for some breakfast

Fitz woke up moments later to an empty bed but a bagel, fresh cup of coffee, and an aspirin rested cheerfully on the table by his desk. Jemma sat at the chair by his desk, looking something up on his computer. She greeted him with a smile as she tries to search his face for any signs that he remembered what happened last night.

If he did remember anything, he didn't let on. Simmons pushed back her worries and suspicions and decided that they must have just fallen asleep watching the movie. She blushed again at the memory of waking up with her arm around him, but hid it behind the screen of his computer and convinced herself there was no reason to feel embarrassed, especially not around Fitz.

"Morning, Simmons," he sat up and smiled back at her, sleepily running a hand through his hair.

"Good morning, Fitz."


End file.
